White Offerings (15 page)

“How long have you been on the streets?”

“About a year.”

“Where are you from?”

“Different places. I tend to keep moving.”

She noticed a paperback tucked into one of the coat pockets. “What are you reading?”

He withdrew a tattered copy of Henry David Thoreau’s
Walden
and held it up for her inspection. She’d read it years ago during high school. The guy had stayed in a cabin, sacrificing most of his possessions to live simply. At the time she couldn’t understand the message.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“Years ago. I don’t remember much.”

He opened the book to a page he’d obviously studied thoroughly. It was a passage about simplicity and the frugal life. Two things were evident to her—he was a good reader and he understood the book. He definitely had one up on her. When he finished reading, he put it back in his pocket. “This is great stuff. It’s what it’s all about.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have too many things in our life, too many responsibilities. We need to cut it down and focus only on the things that are important.”

“You mean like family and education and friends?”

He seemed to bristle at her examples and turned to the window. He blinked quickly, and she thought she saw tears welling in his eyes. When he regained control, he faced her. “Education is the most important.”

“Then why aren’t you in school?”

“I am. This is my school.” He gestured around the restaurant. “I’ve learned more in one year on the streets than I ever did in a classroom. I don’t need to be there.”

“But if you don’t go to school, you’ll never get off the streets. This way of learning will only get you so far.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

She could tell he was smarter than most of the street kids she’d met. He didn’t automatically disagree with the truth. He saw it—he just wasn’t ready to accept it yet, or he knew he needed school and didn’t know how to go back. She dropped the conversation, recognizing there was nothing else to discuss. She’d learned from experience that questioning runaways meant leaving their pasts alone and avoiding lectures. She couldn’t change the world, and they refused to answer questions about their families or backgrounds, which were usually shocking and horrific. She debated whether to haul him in, but she thought it would be pointless. He’d just run the first chance he had. She made a mental note to run a missing juvenile report to see if anyone was looking for him.

Andre arrived at the table and presented Rusty with two twelve-inch hoagies and a super-size drink. “Thanks, man,” he offered. They watched Rusty slip one of the sandwiches into his pocket for later, and he wasted no time unrolling the paper and taking a huge bite. “Great.”

“Rusty, we need to ask you about Itchy,” Andre said.

He exhaled and shook his head. “So sad. That dude was okay. He really helped me a lot when I got to Phoenix. I think he felt sorry for me. Is it true that he’s dead?” Rusty looked up at Andre, hoping the older man would tell him some good news. Molly saw the remnants of a regular kid in Rusty’s eyes.

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Andre said. “And it wasn’t pretty. Whoever did this to Itchy was trying to make a point.”

Rusty continued to work his way through the sandwich, trying to be polite and not speak with his mouth full. “I heard he got stabbed and they left a note.”

“Stabbed, shot and beheaded,” Molly added. “This was a real hit, and Itchy paid a price for what he knew.” She gently touched his arm. “And we’re worried that Itchy might have told someone else.”

Rusty shrugged. “I don’t know anything. Itchy never talked about people being after him.”

“We don’t think he knew,” Andre said. “He had some information, and either someone found out, or he tried to blackmail them and paid the price. If he told anybody, then that person could be in serious danger.”

Rusty sipped his drink and seemed to contemplate Andre’s words. Molly wasn’t sure if he was deciding what to share with them or if he really didn’t know Itchy’s secrets.
Maybe,
Molly thought,
Rusty does know but he doesn’t realize the importance of the information
. His gaze darted from Andre to Molly before returning to his lunch. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or
won’t
,” Molly said.

He swallowed the last bite and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Same difference. I’m just a kid.”

Molly stared at him. He did know something, but he wasn’t sure he should tell. “That’s right, Rusty, you are a kid, and as smart as you are, how long do you think you’ll last on the streets without Itchy? You said he taught you a lot, and look what happened to him.” Rusty’s expression softened, and she was sure she’d struck a nerve. “You just need to tell us about your last conversation with Itchy. Let us decide what’s important, and let us help you.”

“We can make sure you get in a shelter or get some assistance,” Andre added.

Rusty glared at him. “I don’t need or
want
any help.”

Andre held up a hand and nodded. “That’s cool. It’s just an offer. So when was the last time you saw Itchy?”

Rusty leaned against the cushion, as if he was settling in to tell a story. “I saw him about two weeks ago, on Monday and then Tuesday.”

“Are you sure?” Molly asked.

“Yeah. Mondays are the day that this group serves snacks to the homeless in Patriot’s Park, so we always used to see each other there. And Tuesday he came by the hotel while I was watching
CSI
on cable.”

“What did he talk about that might be important to us? Did he show you any money or did he talk about meeting anyone?”

Rusty cocked his head. “Geez, were you there? He brought me this huge takeout dinner, and when I asked him how he got it, he looked around to see if we were alone, and then he pulled this huge wad of cash from his pocket. It looked like a roll of twenties and fifties. I asked who died and he laughed. He said he was involved in a little business venture and this was his payoff. He said there was gonna be more soon and then he promised me that if he got enough money, he was gonna get off the streets, and he said I could come too. We’d get an apartment and be roommates.” Rusty’s head dropped to his chest. He took a deep breath before he looked up again. “He said I could go back to school. We ate and he left. Said he’d be in touch. That was the last time I saw him.”

Molly let a few moments pass in silence. “What did he say about the business venture?”

“He said there was big money to be made. I asked him if I could get in on it, and he said no way. He wouldn’t let me. He was kinda like that. Always looking out for me. He said he’d take care of me.” Rusty paused and let the emotions wash over him. “He said he was going out on his own. He had a plan.”

“To run drugs?” she asked skeptically.

“No, Itchy wouldn’t get in that deep. He had a plan to strike it rich. I don’t know what he was going to do, but he said it was a sure thing.”

Andre pulled out a picture of the numbers written on the memo pad. “Have you ever seen this?”

Rusty peered at the photo and shook his head. “No.”

“Did you ever see Itchy with any guys in suits? You know, guys who look like professionals?”

“No, but Itchy mentioned somebody named Ron or something—”

“Rondo?” Molly asked.

“Yeah, Rondo. Said he knew him. That’s really all I know.”

They talked with Rusty for another half hour, Andre guiding much of the conversation about the Phoenix Suns, Rusty’s favorite team. He saw the games regularly, depending on a friendly security guard to slip him through an underground garage door. As she often did, Molly distanced herself from the conversation, partly because of her aversion to small talk, but also because she wanted to study Rusty. While her heart ached for any juvenile stuck on the street, there was a savvy about him, a streetwise common sense that usually took years to develop. She felt two conflicting emotions at once, empathy and caution. She couldn’t be sure if he was telling her the whole truth. Streetwise kids could also be exceptional liars.

They dropped him off in front of the apartment building and drove back to One Police Plaza while they processed the conversation and Rusty’s relationship with Itchy.

“Based on what Rusty told us, I don’t understand why Itchy had the drugs,” she said. “Rusty said Itchy wouldn’t do that, but he was caught with them, and different witnesses saw him with a wad of cash. How else would he make that money?” She glanced at Andre, who had no answer. “When I interrogated him after we found the drugs, he said it was a one-time thing, and I believed him.”

“Mol, you can’t beat yourself up. He’d never given you reason to doubt him. His info always checked out. I believed him, too. It’s really out of character for him. Itchy was low-level. Fencing stolen property was his game. I wonder what changed.”

“He’d had enough of the street life.”

“You know, the cash might be about the numbers.”

“How?”

Andre shrugged. “I don’t know, but getting involved with Rondo was definitely moving into the big leagues—fast.”

Molly shook her head. She prided herself on understanding human motivation and following her gut feelings, and now it was telling her this wasn’t right. She turned to Andre. “You up for doing some research or do you have a hot date?”

Andre grinned seductively. “No, I’m saving myself for Ari’s party. I’ll find me a fine woman there.”

At the mention of Ari, Molly frowned. She hadn’t decided what to do. She was terrible at fighting and she tended to retreat afterward. Whether it was her pride or her ignorance, Ari had to take her hand and walk her through the steps of reconciliation. It didn’t matter who started the fight or what it was about. Molly was truly incapable of bringing them back together, and since Ari had not initiated contact since their horrible phone call the day before, she doubted Ari wanted to see her, and she didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment.

She pulled her lips into a grudging smile. “I’m positive you’re going to lose this bet. So does that mean you got the time to work?”

“Yeah. Let’s go back and dig up some dirt on our new best friend John Rondo.”

Tuesday, October 17th

4:18 PM

Ari learned more information about Aspen through her search on the Internet. Aspen’s journey west to Phoenix from a little town in New York was dotted with many stops along the way, each city a little larger and each opportunity more prestigious. Ari was surprised at the number of restaurant reviews that mentioned Aspen as the chef, and all were complimentary, exclaiming her talent and praising the establishment for hiring such a culinary wonder. She clearly didn’t shy away from the spotlight, and Ari opened several picture files featuring Aspen in her white chef coat with various local power brokers, including the mayor of Milwaukee, the governor of Missouri and several celebrities. Over the years her appearance had changed slightly as she grew her strawberry blond hair out to its current shoulder length, but her face remained youthful and attractive. When she strung together the pieces of Aspen’s bio, it portrayed a woman on the rise looking for advancement and prestige at every turn.

She skimmed the last review in the
Albuquerque Journal
, another gushing testimonial to Aspen’s talents. It wasn’t until she reached the last few lines that a sentence caught her eye.
If Ms. Harper can manage to stay out of the gossip column and concentrate fully on her craft, she will undoubtedly become one of the greatest chefs this city has ever known.

Her eyes narrowed and she checked the date—April twenty-fifth of the previous year. Obviously something juicy had happened that would cause the reviewer to mention it. She scrolled to the top of the column and found the writer’s name, Courtney Belmont. A few more clicks of the mouse and she located the newspaper’s main line.

“Thank God for technology,” she said, dialing the number.

“
Albuquerque Journal,”
a pleasant voice said.

“Hello, I’m looking for Courtney Belmont, your restaurant critic.”

“Let me check my directory. I’m not familiar with that name.” Ari listened as the woman tapped on her computer keyboard a few hundred miles away. “Huh. I’m not seeing a listing for a Courtney Belmont at this paper. Let me transfer you to the home and living editor who oversees our food section.”

Before she could thank the operator, another two clicks sounded in her ear and a young, nervous voice answered. “Home and living section. This is Mary speaking.”

“Hi. I’m calling from Phoenix, and I read a review by one of your reporters, a Courtney Belmont? I was hoping to speak with her.”

“Um, she doesn’t work here anymore. Is there some way I can help you?”

“Is this the editor of the home section?”

“Uh, no. That’s Mr. McMahon. He’s in a meeting right now. Would you like to call back? I could take a message.”

Mary sounded as though she really wanted Ari to leave a message. Ari smiled. Mary was exactly the kind of person who might divulge more information than she should. “Actually, Mary, you might be able to help me. You said Courtney Belmont didn’t work there anymore. When did she quit?”